


Breakout

by Shaish



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: A scene we didn't get to see, CACW, Civil War, Coda, FIx It, Gen, Kinda, Post-CACW, Post-Civil War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-20
Updated: 2016-05-20
Packaged: 2018-06-09 13:11:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6908563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shaish/pseuds/Shaish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rescuing Team Cap.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breakout

**Author's Note:**

> So I saw this post and got Wanda feels; https://jamesrbarnes.tumblr.com/post/144627424326/scarletwitchandquake-logicalharleyquinn

The door slides open and the sound echoes in the chamber along with his steps. There’s still adrenaline in his veins and he notices the sounds more keenly with it, the way the lights make all the black and silver and grays stark ( _ironic_ ) and unforgiving. 

He goes to Sam first, because he’s biased, whether he likes to be or not, puts on a cocky smirk and gets Sam to smile. He moves to Clint, next, absorbs the clap to his shoulder and then goes to Scott.

“Where’s Wanda?” Clint asks, worry an undertone and painting streaks in his eyes. 

Steve’s mouth tightens before he turns and heads back out the door to the elevator, hears their footsteps echo in a cacophony against the concrete and steel walls behind his. It’s an ugly sound, but it settles him more inside that his aren’t the only steps on his side anymore.

“Stark?” Sam asks, low and quiet on the way down in the elevator, silent. The best tax money can buy.

“Alive,” is all Steve can bring himself to reply. The wound is still fresh, and he doesn’t want to talk about Stark right now, not here. 

He needs to focus on Wanda.

“They kept her down here,” Clint says more than asks, barely audible when the elevator stops twenty-eight floors down, but Steve hears it just before the elevator doors slide open. He holds up a hand with a look and they stop, stay. Steve looks at Clint last before he steps out and heads down the hall, opening the reinforced door at the end.

She’s in the only occupied cell to the right, back to him against the bars across the front of the cage that have to be digging uncomfortably into her spine.

“Wanda?” he asks quietly. She shifts, just slightly, turns her head a little, but not enough for him to see her face. “It’s Steve. I’m here to get you out.” She turns her head a little more, enough for him to see the red lights on her neck that he saw in the security footage of the monitor he’d thrown at two of the agents in the control room when he broke in. She watches him warily, _wearily_ , pale and blank and the kind of tired he’s felt in his bones since the Chitauri Invasion. She’s too young to be feeling that. He’s cost her so much.

“You should leave me here,” she says quietly, almost a whisper, eyes widening a little and body tensing rapidfire quick, breath stilling, waiting, waiting for…?

He curls his fingers, holds his breath with her, because he’s putting it together, the why, for all of it.

“They hurt you,” he says after a moment. Her body slowly untenses, sags back against the bars while her face turns away.

“Nothing I didn’t deserve,” she returns, still so quiet. It hurts him, to see her like this, locked up like an animal and made to be quiet like a doll. 

He thinks of Natasha, of Bucky, and his fingers curl tighter, hard enough to feel his blunt fingernails dig.

“This is my fault,” he says.

“And my choice,” she counters. He steps closer, stops at the door and kneels down to her side.

“But this?” he asks, low, means the cage, the bars, the straight jacket and the collar strapped around her neck. She doesn’t move. “This isn’t right. This isn’t just. This is _wrong_.”

She doesn’t say anything, and he just breathes, listens to her do the same. Finally, she shifts just a little. He still can’t see her face, again.

“Vision was right,” she says, quiet still, so quiet, “Again,” she adds, a hint of sardonic, “They’re afraid of me. I told him I could not control their fear, only my own, but what does that matter when they still lock me up this way?” She huffs a breath, something like a twisted laugh. “Even Hydra did not lock me up like this.”

Steve’s jaw clenches. He forces his fingers to uncurl.

“I’m not afraid,” he says. She turns her head to look at him then, eyes glowing red, but only there, not her fingers or her hands, no veils around her of rippling red. Just her eyes.

“Aren’t you?” she asks, staring at him, through him.

“Well,” he starts, lips curling up a bit, faintly teasing, “Maybe just a little.”

She watches him, blinking slowly.

“But I trust you. I know Clint does, too.”

She softens just a little, the red receding.

“What do you say?” he asks softly, “Wanna get out of here with us?”

“Where will we go?” she eventually asks, hesitant, _afraid_ like they’ve just found her all over again. 

He hates it.

“Somewhere far away from here,” he settles on, “Somewhere with no bars and no cages, and nothing but endless green. Somewhere with friends.”

She stares, drops her eyes and looks at the straight-jacket contraption of straps they’ve wrapped her in like a dangerous animal. “My powers-...” she trails off. He waits. They have a little more time, still. They can afford it. She looks back up. “I am dangerous.”

He huffs something like a laugh at that, and she blinks, seems to realize what he’s thinking, but he says it anyway, “We all are. I know, it’s in a different way, but we’re all dangerous, Wanda. Did I tell you? I stopped a helicopter with my bare hands the other day.” Her eyes have trailed away but she looks back up at that, eyebrow twitching up, just slightly. He can see Natasha there, her fingerprints.

“You _do_ know I can move things with my mind,” she states, echoes from just before this all began, but it’s the loudest she’s spoken since she started talking and her lips are curling up at the edges, worn, but real. 

“Well,” he starts, giving a small shrug, “Now you know I can stop a helicopter with willpower.” 

She doesn’t quite smile at that, but it’s close.

He waits, gives her time. She looks down again.

“This collar-...”

“It won’t hurt,” he says. Her eyes dart back up to meet his. He steels himself. “I promise.”

She watches him for a long moment before slowly nodding, just a small motion of her head. He stands back up, gets the door open after she’s scooted away. He kneels down in the doorway because she’s leaning away whether she means to or not, and waits for her to decide what she wants to do. She scoots forward a little after a minute, and he reaches up, gets his fingers in a firm grip on the collar, eyes meeting hers.

“One,” he starts. She swallows against the back of his fingers. “Two-” He yanks it apart and flings it aside in a quick motion, doesn’t look but hears it the wall and then the floor, hears it spark and fizzle out. She lets out a long breath. “You need any help?” he asks, and she looks down. Her eyes start to glow and then the red wisps streak out, coil and curl around the straps like claws and rip it apart. Steve waits until she stands to do the same.

He offers a hand out, and she stares at it for a moment before jerking forward, running into him, thin arms wrapping around his back. He envelops her immediately, rests his chin on her shoulder and ignores the new smell of the prison uniform and the fear and sweat tangled in with it. 

“ _Thank you_ ,” she whispers, voice wet and shaky.

He squeezes her tighter. 

“ _Hey_ ,” he whispers back, pulling back after a moment to look at her, “I know we’re not you’re brother, but Clint and I?” He watches her try to keep the water in her eyes to herself. She’s so _young_. “We’re here for you. I’ll always be here for you.” She nods a little, and then her lips curl up, letting go to wipe at her eyes with a few fingers

“After Bucky,” she teases, just a little, dry and shaky. He looks at her a little helplessly, and she smiles. “I know,” she says, then, seriously, eyes on him, “Thank you.”

Steve takes her hand gently, because the guards might have grabbed her, might have shaken her and shoved her and he won’t remind her of that, and gives it a firm squeeze. “Thank _you_ , Wanda.” She blinks. “ _Thank you_.” He means it, and, “I’m proud of you. You’ve come so far.” Her eyes water a bit more and she wipes at them again, squeezing his hand.

“Well,,” she says after another few moments, looking back up, that fire back in her eyes where it belongs, “Are we going to stand around here all day? I thought this was a break out.”

He huffs a laugh and starts leading her out. “You’ve been hanging around Clint too much.”

She just shrugs, but she’s smiling, and as soon as they’re out in the hall and she sees Clint and Sam and Scott, her smile grows wider. The tension leaches out of Clint’s body and he walks forward, wraps her up in a hug after she gives a nod and says quiet, reassuring things Steve tries not to hear. He keeps hold of her hand.

-

Steve waits while they change into their clothes, and then they take the elevator to the open landing pad up top, rain streaming down and hitting their faces to the sound of the quinjet starting. They pile into it, and Bucky turns his head a little from up front in the pilot’s seat.

“You all ready to go?” he asks, only a little dry. 

“Sure are,” Steve replies while Sam huffs a breath.

“Don’t know if I trust you with a steering wheel,” he quips, “Let alone one handed, but yeah, sure. Think having to dive out of a crashing quinjet beats sitting around in this place.”

Bucky makes a low, rumbling sound in his throat, not quite a laugh, but close, and closes the back hatch before slowly lifting the jet into the air.

“We _are_ we going?” Scott asks, and Steve leans against the side of the pilot chair, rests a hand on Bucky’s left shoulder and works his thumb over some of the scarring. Bucky relaxes a bit into it.

“Wakanda,” Bucky replies, and Clint makes a sound Steve’s not really sure he can categorize. The closest is probably somewhere around dismay and surprise.

“ _Cat_ guy?” Sam asks incredulously. 

Bucky makes that low, rumbling sound again. “The same.”

“Do I even wanna know?” Clint asks, and Steve smiles, looking back at his team, his family.

“Probably not,” he jokes, and Sam shrugs, then they all get settled in for the flight.


End file.
